Welcome to the craziness that is Triple T Pittsford Farm

Welcome to my daily dose of craziness.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

True Story

May 19, 2011

*This is a true story, every word of it.  When you live on a farm, anything can happen.  When your dealing with livestock....it will happen.

Have you ever gotten up at 3 a.m. and somehow just knew that today was not going to be your day? You know the kind, the one that starts off with waking up two hours before the alarm is set to go off. And, from the moment your feet hit the floor, there is just that over whelming feeling that the planets in your sky are completely out of alignment. Maybe its’ just me, but I can usually tell when I’m going to have one of those days. I get this kind of knot in the pit of my stomach, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I can’t always tell what’s about to happen, or who it’s going to happen too, but that feeling of dread is there all the same. On mornings like this, I start off with an extra prayer. I figure it can’t hurt, and I can always use a little extra help.

Well, after what seems like months of cold rain, the day finally started off with a beautiful sunrise. I know, I was awake long before it ever crested the horizon. The welcomed sunshine was the highlight of my day. It was still cool, despite rays of golden sun shooting through the trees. There was a strong southerly wind, but it didn’t seem to be pushing any warm air my way. After what seemed to be an endless winter, even a cool day of sun, was better then the continued threat of more rain and the mud that always seems to be left behind.

After getting dressed, and getting everyone else up and out of the house, I drank a quick cup of coffee and headed outside. Now that there was dry weather, I started working on the all those spring projects that had been put on hold due to the rain. First task at hand, get the Pansy’s planted. I bought them back in March, thinking I would get them planted in April. Here it is the beginning of May, and the poor flowers were still in their starter packs. Of course, getting them planted early, was not going to happen with a spring like we’ve been having. We farm, and I knew better than to “mud” my flowers in like some of our neighbors had done. With an average rain fall of four plus inches a week, I wasn’t about to risk loosing my flowers so my yard could look springy. Now, with a little sun, I thought planting was the place to start. The best laid plans…I should have known that nothing was working in my favor. Remember that little knot in my stomach? Well, here we go.

I planted 30 Pansy’s in a large planter near the back steps. We don’t use our front door, so our company always enters our house via the back porch (which is located on the side of the house, facing the barn), so I try to keep the area looking warm and inviting with a flower pot full of bright plants throughout the summer and fall. I was very proud of the way my planter turned out. A mix of bright yellow and dark purple blooms in the large pink pot was just the right combination. Next, I moved to the front flower bed. Even though we don’t use the front door, I sill want the flower bed to look nice. It’s the first thing you see when you pull up to our farm house. My hosta plants from last year have survived the winter, and there were some sticks and twigs that needed to be picked up. I also set out my garden ornaments, like the ceramic hen my mom made, and cement lambs that stand guard in the corner near the hedge. Once I had all the sticks picked up, and my animal collection in place, I headed to the flower garden at the edge of my shop. The shop is my area. It belongs to me, and only me! I use this area for my garden tools, feeding the cats and storage for my market tables. My husband and son have their own shop area out in the tool shed, so I get to doll this area up with a small flower garden near the door. I was really pleased with my self. I had only been up and at it for about five hours and I had already completed two of the jobs I’d been waiting to attack for months, along getting three loads of laundry done. As I walked past my back door flower pot, my heart stopped! There on the ground were my newly planted flowers. 21 little Pansy plants lay on the grass helpless, while the remaining nine little plants clung to the soil in the planter.

Now, if you are a cat person, you may well know, what cats think of newly turned dirt. “Fresh litter box.“ Yep, cats can smell new dirt a mile away. We have five so called “barn cats” who spend more time lounging on the back porch, than doing their job hunting mice in the barn. Most of our cats started out as house cats’ at one time, and are the son’s and daughters of Felicia’s cat Iddy Biddy. Felicia is our oldest daughter, and she has a fondness for black and white cats. Iddy Biddy was an orphan kitten that she managed to sneak home in her coat pocket one fall from my cousin’s house. As our kids grew, and got busier with school and sports, I started moving cats out of my house, and into the barn. I was over the whole cat box thing, and getting my toes attacked during a trip to the kitchen sink for a swig of water at 2 a.m. At any rate, I was ahead of the game for a while. As of today, five new kittens were added to the mix, compliments of Buttons. Anyway, I rounded the corner of the house to see my flowers on the ground, and a very guilty looking Midnight sitting on the porch. Now, Midnight is the only male cat we have. He is still young, and tends to be the one who gets into trouble first. Sometimes I give him the benefit of the doubt simply because he has a sister, Boots, who can find enough trouble for both of them. But his dirty paws were a dead give away. Boots, Rascal and Mouse were sitting near by, on the picnic table, with their mother Buttons, waiting to see what kind of payback was in store for Midnight. Well, what could I do? The damage was already done. I wanted to spit nails through a board, but that wouldn’t do any good. Disaster number one. Yep, that knot in my stomach was growing. How bad was the rest of my day going to be? I replanted my flowers, and in doing so was afforded my opportunity for a kitty pay back. I decided since the flowers looked a little dried out and stressed from their up rooting, a drink of water might be in order. By the time I stepped out from behind my shop with the hose, Midnight was hard at work digging up my newly replanted flowers. He promptly got a shower. Thank goodness for high water pressure. I had to giggle. Poor Midnight didn’t really know what hit him. All he will remember is that a blast of water knocked him out of the flower pot. The best part is he didn’t even see it coming. He only felt a blast of cold water, then the thud of hitting the ground, running, and needing time to dry off up in the maple tree. The other cats that had been looking on, were now scattered in all directions. I think cats really do learn from watching their siblings. Its been nearly a full day, and not one cat has dared to go near my flower pot.

The next job I had planned for the day was to put up the temporary pasture fence and turn the horses out. Their lot is nothing but mud. With so much rain, the horse lot hasn’t had time to dry out and recover from winter, much less the continued down pours of this spring. Well, if you have ever tried to move a 16 foot cattle panel alone, you know that there is just no easy way to do this alone, especially for a women who is only 5’5” tall. Cattle panels are made to be strong, but flexible. Because of this, they are hard to move. If you are big enough to get one of them standing up, getting it moved is another story. Each panel weighs about 40 lbs, which isn’t much, but when you stretch this out over a 16 foot area of wobbly welded square mesh, its hard to move. Now add in walking though knee deep wet grass in a pasture, it’s not an easy task to say the least. After I had attempted to move three panels alone, and drive the fence post in alone, my mood was not getting any lighter. I have a herniated disc in my back, but its something I’ve lived with for years, along with arthritis in both feet and ankles, and Fibromyalgia. The deck is stacked against me all the time. Well today it truly seems to be. Some how, while dragging one of those stupid panels across the pasture, I got tangled up and ended up falling down with a panel on top of me. Now I’m achy and muddy. All of this was witnessed by our sheep, the horses and Morgan’s dog Tito. Morgan is our youngest daughter. Tito is her half Toy Rat Terrier, half Chihuahua. He is little, only about 15 lbs, but his’s one of the smartest dogs I have ever been around. He is also a very talented herding dog. Chickens are his specialty, but he does a fare job with the sheep and the horses. He did what any good herding dog would do when its person falls down. Lick you while your down. I had to laugh. It was either that or cry, and I knew if I started crying it would just make things worse, and I would never get up. Once I figured out that my pride was hurt more than the rest of my body, I somehow managed to get out from under the cattle panel. It’s still laying in the pasture where we fell. Damn thing can just lay there until I get some help!

Plan B. When you can’t get the fence up, take the horses out on the lead line for a while. Being raised with horses, I know how a little grass can lighten their mood too. Besides, our horses are fairly calm. Well, at least Felicia’s mare is calm. I’m in the process of breaking my eight year old Quarter horse, Tennessee Walker mix. We’ve only had Cheyenne and Stormy for nine months. My friend Mary found them for us. Her vet had a client who was being transferred out of state in a week, and was desperate to find a home for her horses. She had raised Cheyenne for 21 years, but Stormy was left tied to her fence five years ago. He was three when she got him, and with no history of him, she simply spoiled him. She never tried putting a saddle on him. She only broke him to lead and spoiled him with horse treats. Stormy is 17, 3 ¾ hands tall, so he’s not a little horse, and he’s afraid of everything. It has taken me the entire nine months to gain his trust, and to get him to listen to me. If I talk in a calm manor, we’re usually fine. But anything noisy, or unexpected movement will set him off. He seems to be ok as long as Cheyenne is calm, so because of this, I thought a couple of lead ropes and lots of green grass would make for a nice outing. What in the heck was I thinking? Up rooted flowers, and a wrestling match with a cattle panel must not have been enough for one day.

Everything was going fine. Our horses aren’t hard to catch, so getting them out was a breeze. We spent about an hour just meandering around the pasture to the envy of the sheep. I can’t handle 20 sheep and two horses all at once. I know they won’t stay put from past experience with escapees, so they were just left in their lot bleeting with jealousy. Barring the occasional split, one horse going right and the other going left, we were fine. I was feeling like the worst of my day had passed. At last, a calm soothing end to my harried day. Nope! Idiot, what are you thinking?

We live out in the country, on a quiet road with very few neighbors. In fact, we can tell when there’s a stranger on the road by the way they drive.

Everyone in our area goes slow when driving on our road. Due to all of the flowing wells, and under ground springs, our road has high/low spots that people in Indiana call “wash boards”. At the north end of our property line, there are wash boards that will throw a vehicle off of the road and into our fence if the driver doesn’t slow down in time. We have a five strand, high tension cable fence on the west side of our pasture, that runs the length of our property from north to south. We have had to repair this fence at least four times in the past three years, thanks to unaware drivers. So, it would make sense that today would be the day that would have at least one more added disaster to continue to add to the wreckage of my mornings premonition. There we were, Cheyenne, Stormy, Tito and I minding our own business, enjoying the sunshine and the grass. The afternoon school bus had already gone by the house. A few kids, with their window’s down had yelled “horses” and waved, but this seemed to be no big deal, and the horses acted like they didn’t even notice the noise. Then I heard it. A teenager in a new red Mustang roaring down the road. Cheyenne and Stormy looked up and saw the car, but didn’t move. We often have loud, speeding cars that end up either in the ditch, or scraping up the under side of their cars when they hit the wash boards, so this was just another loud vehicle to them. But oh no! It couldn’t be that simple. This idiot kid not only bottomed out his car, but he started honking his horn and flipping me off as he drove by. I can get over his loss of control over his middle finger, but honking the horn at anyone who is holding two horses is totally uncalled for. I’m sure he was honking as a jester of anger. After all, I’m sure he thought it was my fault that he was speeding down an unfamiliar road that almost caused him to ruin his car. (I secretly hope he got home and found a nice hole in oil pan.) He did manage to keep his car out of the fence, for which I was very grateful since the horsed and I are were only about ten or twelve feet away. And, we all know that honking at an innocent bystander fixes everything. I was a little more than angry at this point, however, I was grateful that he was going fast enough past the pasture that he most likely didn’t see Stormy nearly take my head off when he jumped and kicked. Poor Cheyenne was still calm until the ill placed kick caught her square on the right front shin. This caused her to rare. All the while I am being split in two, and trying my best not to get killed while not letting the horses loose. Now I’m really going to be sore! While all of this was going on, Tito had headed for higher ground. He wasn’t taking any chances. He was hugging the back door on the porch when I was finally able to look around for him. Tito was just sitting there, watching the whole scene unfold in what seemed like slow motion. “Wow! Am I still alive?” My right shoulder hurts, but I don’t think I’m any worse for the ware. Where is a county cop when you need one? I know its spring. And, I know that high school kids get wound up at this time of year, but really! If they want to see their senior year of school, they really need to slow down. I wish I had some of those stop sticks police use to stop run a way fugitives in a car chase. I would put them down the next time I see that kid coming down the road. I managed to fight back my tears, yet once again, and get the horses put back in their lot.

I went to the house to let Tito in and get a drink (it was only water, but the thought of adding a little Jim Beam crossed my mind) and check the time. Felicia was at work and would need a ride home since her car died on her Tuesday. I almost fainted! It was seven o’clock in the evening. “Where did the day go? Damn!”

I do all of the feeding, morning and evening. On a good day, I can get it all done by myself in an hour or two, give or take a few minutes. Today was going to take a little longer. I needed to move some hay up from the tool shed, and after the day I’d just survived, it wasn’t going to be easy. Tom does his best not too make the bales too big or too heavy. He’s gone most of the time, working with his brother on the other farm and taking care of his dad, so he knows if I can’t move the hay if it‘s too heavy, and Dustin, Felicia and Morgan aren’t around to help, otherwise, he’ll be feeding hay at midnight when he gets home tonight.

Ok, so I need to bring up three bales of hay. One for the horses, and two for sheep. I have a routine to my feeding. It makes things easier when there is only one of me doing all of the feeding. I start by watering the horses and the ewes, then feed the market lambs, then the yearlings (affectionately known as the Slack Girls, because of their breeding). Then I load the chicken feed and water onto my truck, put the horse feed on and drive around behind the barn to the coop and horse shed. On my way back I get the hay, feed it and then I’m done. Disaster number three is in the making.

It started off just like every other night. I watered the horses and the Slack Girls, fed and watered the market lambs, then mixed the feed for the ewes. Now, the lay out of our barn requires one to make a trip through the ewe pen, make a right hairpin corner while ducking under the gateway bar, turn left and end up at the feeder. All this happens within a space of about four yards. Keep in mind there are six VERY spoiled show ewes and one really big ram who occupy this pen. The ram is wonderful. He knows his place, and it’s usually on the far side of the feeder. “Bucky” has never been aggressive like some of our other bucks, but I keep an eye on him just the same. For the most part, he shies away from me, so its not a problem for me to feed alone. However, the ewes on the other hand , make it their business to be all up in your business when it comes time to eat. All of the ewes are left over from 4-H projects, and are now the foundation of our breeding program. The kids raised all of them, and they think they rule the roost at our house. Well, for some reason they brought “Bucky” with them when they decided to mad dog me just when I was getting ready to duck the bar. I’m not sure if you have ever been mad dogged by hungry sheep before, but six sheep, a beat up, tired farm wife and a five gallon bucket of corn spell disaster. I managed to back up in time to miss Bucky coming into the pen, but now I’m stuck between him and the ewes with no place to go but down! Bucky wasn’t trying to get me, he just wanted out. I don’t think he realized that I was already out of the barn, when the ewes talked him into heading into the barn. Valentine, Gracie and Kianne were trying to get they fat heads in the bucket, while Sophie and Victoria were simply trying to get in the barn, and Bucky was trying to figure out how to get away from me and get out to the barn and into his spot at the feeder.

Well now, let’s count feet. Six sheep, times four feet, that equals 24. Now add my two feet. That is 26 feet, and they are all trying to go two different directions, though a three foot gate opening. I have no idea what happened, or even how it happened. All I know is I felt a thump (most likely Valentines big hind end) hit me from the front as the ewes were trying to turn around. The next thing I know, I’m on the ground, covered in corn and there are five ewes trying to eat me. While this isn’t insult enough, it dons on me that the buck is still in the barn, and he wants out to get his fair share of the feed. I looked back over my right shoulder just in time to see him head for the exit. All I could do was curl up under Valentine, and hope that she didn’t fall on me. Valentine is a Dorset, and she is very big, the same size as the Suffolk ram. The only thought that came to mind was “I’m dead! If I’m not dead, who will find me, and how am I getting out of this one alive?”

That’s it! That knot in my stomach was telling me that I was going to die today, alone, and this is it! Well this just sucks! I always pictured my death as peaceful. Me being old, and I would simply go to sleep one night and it’s all over. Nope! I’m not going out like this. If Tom and kids find me out here dead, it would haunt them forever. “GET UP STUPID! Oh, wait. I can’t get up. I’m under the biggest sheep we have. Ok, quick, new plan. Just stay put and see what happens.” I saw Buck come through the gateway, then I closed my eyes, and then I was alone. When I opened my eyes, I think I was in a state of shock. My brain was starting to get back into gear, but a little slowly. I remember thinking “What happened? Get up! Your ok. Where are the sheep? GET UP! You can look for the sheep later! Get up and get moving!” Boy, when that little voice in my head gets excited, she yells. “UP! Where is my bucket? Where are the sheep? Where is the ram? Am I ok?” All I could do was lean against the barn. I was just sitting there, in the mud, looking around a bit confused. I found the sheep. They were all standing in the lot, looking at me like they were trying to figure out what just happened too. They were also looking at me as if to say “why are you sitting in our feed?“ Wow! I finally got up and made it back in the barn, got another bucket of feed and went back for round two, only this time I made it all the way out to the feeder. I really do think this experience freaked the sheep out. I know it did me. They have never, ever in the four years we have lived here, ever waited patiently at the feeder. That’s just not the nature of sheep. Now they were just standing there waiting. It was a little scary. I got them fed, then went in the barn and sat on the show box and cried. When I finally got my bearings, I realized it was time to pick Felicia up and I still wasn’t done with the feeding. I don’t think I’m hurt at this point. Not too sure how that happened, but now the feeding still isn’t done and its nine o’clock. Oh well, Felicia will just have to help me finish up. I’m covered in manure and mud, I stink, and I’m so mad that I’m not even sure I can even drive at this point.

I made it to Daleville, picked Felicia up and we got home to finish the feeding. When Felicia gets off work at nine, that doesn’t mean she will be out anytime soon. She didn’t get in the truck until ten o’clock. So now I have been sitting for an hour. That is not a good thing. As I was sitting there, waiting for her to emerge from the restaurant, I noticed that some of my body parts were starting to sting, and ache a little. Oh crap! I’m gonna pay for this day, I just know it. By the time we got home, I couldn’t hardly move. Felicia said that I looked bushed and that I was in need of a bath. Gee, what a brilliant observation! I’m glad that college education she is getting is paying off! That went over like a led balloon. I filled her in on my day, and she agreed that I needed help finishing my chores. Well, as luck would have it, Murphy’s Law was about to strike again. This day is just never going to end, I can just feel it. Welcome Murphy. You know the one. If it can go wrong, it will. Poor Felicia. She never had a chance. Disaster number four, coming up!

I raise chickens. Some for meat, and some hens for eggs. Because chickens can be a little moody, and a little territorial, I have my hen house divided by a chicken wire wall. I was on the laying hen side because my hens don’t like other people. The minute Felicia steps foot in there, my hens start pecking her. Therefore, Felicia refuses to have anything to do with them. If I’m sick, they just don’t get fed or watered until I’m get better. This is a bad way to be, but after repeated floggings, Felicia says “the only good laying hen, is a dead hen floating in a sea of noodles and broth.” So, I’m sure my hens are out to get her. Anyway, I took the laying side, while Felicia took the meat bird side. Cornish hens are too slow to peck anyone too much, and they seem to like Felicia, even though she has them all named after a food. There is Noodle, and Drumstick, and Rotisserie, you get the idea. 25 of them, and she has them all named. I don’t have water ran out to the building yet, so we haul water out in five gallon buckets to fill the watering jugs. Felicia had just commented on how hot the kitchen at work was tonight, when I handed her a jug over the fence and watched as the lid popped off and gave Felicia a sound soaking. As if getting wet at 10:30 at night isn’t bad enough, our water comes from and under ground spring, so it’s about 42* year round. Once she finally caught her breath she started cussing. By this time the chickens have realized that their drink is now all over Felicia. There she was, trying to pick up the water, while being attacked by 25 very hot and thirsty Cornish Cross hens. She finally got out alive and one piece, and the chickens did get their water. I was in a position to watch this all unfold, and start laughing. This didn’t make Felicia any too happy, but it helped me a little. At least I wasn’t the only one stuck under the dark cloud of Murphy’s Law. All I could say was “welcome to my day.” We finally got finished with the chickens, and were down to one last chore. We still needed to bring hay in. Disaster number five, please step forward.

We store our square bales up on pallets off of the ground so they won’t draw moister and get moldy. I have a problem with this, because as we get down to the bottom layer, we have to walk across the pallets to get 80 lb. bales of hay. I’m always afraid that I will trip and fall and end up with a bale of hay on top of me with a broken bone. Nope, tonight wasn’t a broken bone kind of night. Instead, it’s a getting my foot stuck kind of night. And, that will be my down fall, literally. If you are picturing me on the ground, with a bale of hay near by, and a daughter who is fit to be tied after only getting wet, laughing hysterically, you almost have the scene set perfectly. At least I didn’t fall off of the stupid pallet. I fell through it! One of the damn boards broke, and down I went. I opted to toss the bale toward Felicia. The thought of being trapped under anything else today, was just more than I could bare. We finally got me picked up, the hay fed and back in the house by the time Tom got home at midnight. Wow! It only took me five hours to do feeding that normally only takes me two hours on a normal bad day. When we finally got in the house, I filled Tom and Felicia in on the entire day.

The fence still isn’t built, and the horses still don’t have any grass, but my flowers are still in the flower pot, and the sheep and the chickens are all still alive. I however, did not come out of this day unscaved. I have bruises on my arms and legs (one of them looks like a sheep hoof print, but I have no idea who stepped on me or when) and my back is killing me. My right shin looks like hamburger, and the rest of me just hurts. Even my hair hurts. I got sunburned on the top of head while planting flowers! Just as we went to bed, we heard the Coyotes. Tom went out, but didn’t see them. All of the livestock seemed to be ok, so at 1:30 a.m. we all gave up and went to bed. If I have to live through too many more of these days, I’m going to need way more help. Maybe two extra prayers in the morning. The next time I get up with that little knot in my stomach, I’m not leaving the house, and I WILL put that shot of Jim Beam in my drink of water.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


The day's are getting shorter, and it's hard to believe that we're half way through September already.  Gone are the day's of a hot, and miserable summer.  Now a new season has began, one filled with the smells of things to come.  Wet leaves, and the corn as it's being harvested, the fresh smell of the earth as fall plowing begins at the end of harvest.  The sounds change during this time of year too.  The song birds of summer and the buzz of humming birds give way to the call of blue jays and crows.  Crickets and grasshopper's begin their fall serenade, while squirrels and chip monks dart about under the oak and walnut tree's, as they gather and bury their winter store.  This is the time of year when the gardener's of summer begin their own kind of farming.

In the garden, the summer green beans are long gone.  Lined up in neat row's of canning jar's on shelves in the basement, filled with the yummy harvest of green, just waiting for the first snow to fly and the first stock pot of homemade vegetable soup.  Tomatoes are hanging ripe and red on the vine.  It's time to harvest the last juicy fruits of the vine.  Salsa, stewed tomatoes, juice, and whole tomatoes will make hearty soups and stew's to warm cold souls in the heart of winter.  Now it's time to dig the winter onions, potatoes, and carrots that will be stored in basket's or canned for winter goodness.  But, the harvest is also a new beginning.  A new round of planting now takes place.  The soil is prepared for the winter crops.  Turnips, broccoli, radishes, and kale are sewn in neat rows.  The earth is still warm, and the air is crisp and cool.  The perfect combination for new growth.

Fall festivals and parties prevail.  Apples, pumpkin's, cyder and warm donuts are all the first guest at any autumn activity.  Honey is an added treat in the fall.  Warm biscuits and bread tag along for a dinner treat.  Guest's stay longer and linger near the camp fire, and remember the hot summer past.  Folks take the time to stop at the drive or gate way to say hello.  No more day's of rushing around to get things done in the summer heat.  Now a cup of coffee is enjoyed in the crisp morning air.  Neighbor's turn out to lend a hand with harvest, or just to sit and enjoy some pie with the fellow next door.  The sheering is done, and the pasture's prepared.  The hay is baled, and the fodder shocks are stacked, the livestock is moved near the barn, and the rooster's crow is more relaxed and comes a bit later in the morning.  Autumn is coming near.

Soon enough the icy breath of winter will be upon the earth, and a quiet kind of sleep with replace the sounds of laughter that rang out as children played in piles of gold and red leaves.  The autumn air will give way to colder breezes, then recoil against the icy cold of the north wind.  Falling leaves will be gone, blown into brown piles against the fence rows.  Now the earth will be covered in a new blanket of white.  Leaves of red's and gold's will give way to the falling white of the snow. 

Most people think of spring as the new beginning, but fall is the true beginning.  Fall leads us to the quiet time of rest.  The time that allows the earth to catch up with her self.  A time of reflection, celebration and rebirth, before the coming of spring.  Fall is the first part of the year, not the end.  Fall into to a new time of hope and, enjoy the blessings that abound around you.  Enjoy the Fall.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Rainy Day at the Lambs Nest

I'm ready to be snowed in!  Alone!!!!  I'm feeling depressed today and snow makes me happy.  Not sure why I feel so blue.  I've done the laundry, the house is mostly clean, I spent the day with my grand kids yesterday, and fought with my daughter and husband as usual this morning, so what's the problem?  Oh!  That's it!  I'm tired of fighting and it all being my fault!

To start I'm an early riser.  I'm usually up at 3 a.m., but I have been forcing my self to stay in bed until 5 a.m..  Normal people don't get up before five, so I'm trying to fit into the norm.  This is not working out well for me.  It makes my Fibromyalgia worse, so as of this morning I'm giving up on being "normal".  Pain makes me grouchy.  I need to find a new direction too.  My routine is clean my room (yes I said my room, I don't sleep in the same room as my husband).  I make my bed, pick up my cloths and usually start the day by starting a load of laundry, then taking a shower.  I babysit three days a week until 4:30 p.m. for my cousin.  She and the boys usually get here at 7:45 a.m..   I then clean my house again, picking up after the boys.  Then I feed the chickens, sheep and horses.  In the last week though, I have had to get help or "make" my husband and daughter go out and do the feeding.  We have had some sick sheep and my back is on the verge of going out.  I have a herniated disc in my lower back and two bulging disc's in my upper back.  I'm the one in pain, but they think doing the work is killing them.  All I hear is "why can't you get it done before we get home?"  Mostly because I can't catch the sheep, hold them (some of them weigh over 200 lbs) and give the their meds alone.  It takes two of you, why is helping me such a pain in your hind end???  And what part of "its takes two people to give meds" don't they get???

I sell eggs from home and at a farmers market locally.  The farmers market it on Friday evening after I've babysat all day.  I get home at 7:30 p.m., then I'm at another farmers market on Saturday morning at 7:00 a.m. to cook Port Burgers until noon.  If we don't have a catering after that, I can go home.  Other wise, like the past two or three weekends, I don't get home until after 10:00 p.m..  I come home only to find out that none of the chores have been done.  Instead of coming home, my husband gets done taking care of his dad, and goes to his friends house to hide out.  My daughter gets off work and goes to her boy friends house to hide out.  I know my daughter has school, and a 40 hour a week job, and my husband takes care of his dad with the help of an in home agency, but why do they keep saying "you need to get a job?  Your not doing anything to help out?"  What the hell!?  I get paid every week, I help pay the bills, I don't go shopping even when I really need things like cloths and shoes.  I work 30-35 hours a weekend (Friday to Sunday) catering, I babysit 24 hours a week and work at the farmers market on Friday night for four hours.  Lets do the math.  30 + 24 +4 + 7 (that's feeding time) = 65 hours. I have no idea how many hours I spend cleaning house, so I figure I put in my 80 some hours a week at the very least.  I do their laundry, because heaven forbid they would have to do it.  I canned all the vegetables from the garden alone, I took care of the garden alone and when I call and ask either one of them to please come home and help with anything, they find something better to do.  My son is the same way. 

My husband takes care of his dad who is 85 and has Alzheimer's.  His dad should get breakfast at 8:00 a.m. to take his meds.  My husband usually gets up around 8:30-9:00 a.m.  Keep in mind he is a farmer (much better on paper than in real life).  It drives him crazy that I get up early and get a half days work done before he wakes up, but if I wake him up, he gets angry and I catch hell all day long for waking him up.  Thank God once he leaves, he doesn't come back until late at night.(I guess I need to choose.  Do I want him home to get in my way, or do I want him to stay gone so I can get stuff done?)  He also hates it that I go to church on Sunday morning, that I read my bible every night and that I don't stay up all hours of the night like he and my daughter watching old TV series on DVDs.  In my heart, I don't want to make God unhappy by getting a divorce, but my head says it's time to get out.  Nothing has changed in 27 years, and it's not going to. 

We (I) are trying to build a sheep business selling freezer lamb.  We have bread sheep for the past 10 years.  Problem is, when I say things like "we need to build fence" or "we need to clean the barn and build lambing jugs" my husband disappears.  He wants the money without the work.  He also keeps waiting for a huge bag of money to fall into his lap, and he likes to think that his family name means something big.  Problem is, not one cares.  Their just another farm family like the rest of us, nothing overly special.  And, he wants to wait until it's -10* and the snow and wind are blowing to winterize the barn, and get ready to have lambs.  I guess this means that I'm an idiot for staying.  I keep hoping that he will change.  That God will change him in some way, but I can see that God is giving me the strength to keep taking things as they are, and he's not going to change my family.  Our business isn't growing very fast.  How can it?  I work, try to do everything around here, and I'm getting nothing completed quickly.  I wouldn't leave the area because of my grandchildren.  They are my life.  But if I could take them with me, I would move to another state tomorrow.

Maybe its the rainy weather that has me in such a blue mood.  That sounds like a good excuse.  I know that it's my family, and it's me always being stuck either at home or at work.  I can't tell you the last time I talked to a friend, not even sure if I still have friends.  I talk to people at church, but I don't go to lunch with anyone, ever.  I hate to shop, so that's out.  I hate going and spending $20 at the movies when I can wait a few months and buy any movie off the $5 rack at the store and watch it as much as I want for a quarter of the price.  Maybe it's me.  But I was raised to believe that marriage was a 50/50 deal.  When do my husband have to start putting his 50% in?

Maybe this is just the rainy day blue's and there is nothing I can do about it.  Blogging is like complaining to my self, but it's the best release I have at this point.  Well, that's the end of my rainy day at the Lambs Nest.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

A day with the "Boys".

It's Tuesday, the second start to the week since Monday was Labor Day.  I am babysitting for my two little cousin's.  Aidan 1 1/2, and Golin 6 months.  This can be a chore since Aidan doesn't talk yet and Golin (like Goal-In) is a very chunky 23# baby.  Thank goodness I have Wyatt, my three year old grandson here to help me.  Other wise, I would be pulling my hair out.  Golin is living under the delusion that he must be carried around on ones hip all day long.  This does not happen when he is with me.  My back won't take it.  Plain and simple, he's too big for be to lug around. 

Wyatt is ready for snow.  Krista, Kaylynn and Wyatt were here for supper last night.  All Wyatt talked about was snow and Santa Clause.  "When it going to start snowing Mamma?"  I was cracking up.  He is so cute, and way too smart for his age.  I'm sure that most of my blog posts will be about the sheep, the craziness that goes on in my house, and my grandchildren.  Welcome to my life.